


Difficult Dreams

by creativityandcoffee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts, also tagging this just to be safe:, but they have each other and they will be okay, quentin and eliot are both going through a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityandcoffee/pseuds/creativityandcoffee
Summary: In their respective nightmares, Eliot sees nothing, and Quentin sees everything.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Difficult Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a short Queliot fic for you all. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> P. S. I tagged Suicidal Thoughts because there are thoughts along the lines of "if I was gone, then I wouldn't have to suffer through this," as well as an "I'm ready to sacrifice myself" moment. If either of those things will upset you, then please take a pass on this fic.

Eliot sees nothing.

The darkness spreads out before him, heavy and whole, a never-ending expanse of void. He falls slowly, then quickly, then slowly again. Or maybe he’s not falling at all—maybe he’s floating, or flying, or drifting in circles. It’s difficult, from moment to moment, to keep track of what _has_ happened, of what _will_ happen next; time seems to blur and then merge, losing all shape and reason.

He’s familiar with the darkness, now. He finds himself slipping into it more and more often.

The terrifying part isn’t the lack of sight, or the lack of sound, or the lack of feeling that pervades his body. It’s the lack of _people_ —the fact that he is entirely and utterly alone. 

More specifically, it's the lack of Quentin that scares him the most.

Even when the Monster had taken over his body, he’d still been able to see Quentin, occasionally, and to hear the other man’s voice. Sometimes, when the Monster had reached out to touch Quentin, Eliot had even been able to feel that sensation as well.

He’d been alone, but not completely deprived. Isolated, but still connected to the world.

But this— _this_ is different.

This is worse.

He knows he has to get out; he knows he has to fight, to break free, to find his way back.

But there’s nothing to fight. There is _only_ nothing.

Nothing, and himself.

And it always ends up like this, always leads to him howling in frustration, crying in grief, tearing at himself and hoping, somehow, that if _he_ is destroyed, he can escape from all of this.

_If I’m gone, I won’t have to suffer anymore. If I’m gone, I won’t have to suffer—_

But then, something miraculous happens: something wondrous and beautiful, the answer to all of his desperate pleas.

He wakes up.

He wakes up and Quentin’s there, holding him close, talking calmly and running light fingers through his hair. He opens his eyes quickly, almost violently, not wanting to wait to see the proof of Quentin's presence for himself.

“I’m here,” Quentin whispers, pressing a kiss to Eliot’s forehead. “I’m here, love. You’re safe, you're okay. Go back to sleep, now. I’m right here...”

Eliot closes his eyes, and this time, the darkness that greets him is peaceful and calm. 

* * *

Quentin sees everything.

The whole world shines before his eyes, reflected in the glass shards that flash in front of his vision, blinding him with brilliant, white light. He can _see_ everything and _hear_ everything and _feel everything all at once_ , _and it’s too much, it’s too much to take—_

Suddenly, time stands still.

Quentin’s frozen in place, staring at the mirror fragments surrounding him, circling him like he’s the center of their universe. He wants to walk towards the images in front of him, wants to _understand_ the colors he’s seeing, the voices he’s hearing, the anguish he’s feeling, deep within his heart. 

But he can’t move. He can’t do anything but watch.

And so he watches, as he always does, with tears in his eyes; he crumples to the ground at the painful sight of the people he loves, their screams reverberating in his mind, his pulse racing as they die, one by one, in a world beyond the glass, beyond his reach.

_Take me,_ he thinks, or shouts, or whispers—he can’t tell anymore, which voice is his own— _take me instead, take me instead,_ **_take me instead of them_** _._

Silence. Sweet, blissful silence.

The lights are gone, and Quentin feels a cool breeze briefly dance across his cheek.

And that—as always—is when the glass starts moving towards him.

Quentin stands up, trying to steel himself for the fate that awaits him. He winces at the thought of all that glass slashing through him, and shakes, despite himself, in fear.

He closes his eyes, bracing for the inevitable—

And opens them again with a gasp.

He sits up quickly, almost losing his balance in the process, and feels warm hands holding him steady.

_Eliot’s hands._

Eliot runs one hand along Quentin’s back, keeping his other hand pressed firmly to Quentin’s chest. Eliot's touch anchors Quentin in the present, in _these_ sights and _these_ sounds and _these_ feelings: the heat, and the cold, and the ache between his eyes.

“There you go, it’s alright” Eliot murmurs, guiding the other man to lie back down on the bed. When Quentin’s head meets the pillow, he somehow feels even more tired than he already had.

“El, I—” Quentin starts to say, trying to explain, trying to apologize for interrupting Eliot’s sleep.

Eliot just shushes him gently, brushing back Quentin's hair and rearranging the blankets. “Don’t worry, Q. Just sleep. There you go…” 

As Quentin drifts off again, the light that surrounds him is soft and warm.

* * *

The nightmares always come without warning. Both Eliot and Quentin have been suffering from them lately, and neither of them know why.

They’ve talked to other magicians, and even healers, but they always get the same response.

_Give it time. These dreams will pass._

The waiting, however, is far from easy. Having to watch each night slip away, not knowing whether restful sleep or difficult dreams await them, is a burden both of them are still struggling to live with.

But they _do_ live with it, and they _will_ , for however long it takes.

Somehow, as if the Universe is giving them a small bit of good fortune, Eliot and Quentin never have their nightmares on the same night; if one of them wakes up crying and shouting, full of panic and confusion, the other one is always there to bring him back around.

It will take a while for things to return to normal—for Eliot and Quentin to be able to let go of the fear, which they’ve had for so long, that they will lose each other forever. It will take weeks, months, and maybe even _years_ for them to be able to hold each other close without worrying it's for the last time.

But they will make it through; they know they will. Because together, they can make it through anything.


End file.
